Page 83 of Me and Mr. Darcy

‘I wanted to tell you I very much enjoyed your company last night.’

‘Me too.’ I nod, and feel myself blushing.

God, talk about the understatement of the year.

I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t, and what began as a pause is now being drawn out like a long breath and I’m thinking I should say something, but my mind has just gone completely blank, like a floppy disk wiped clean, and I’m just staring at him and wondering how long before we do it.

Emily Albright! What did you just say?

I feel a slap of recrimination. Oh, God, I’d forgotten, but now I remember why I came to end up in the back of the VW Rabbit. I always get unbelievably horny when I’m stoned.

‘So, how is the ball?’

Finally he speaks.

‘Oh . . . you know,’ I say vaguely, trying to drag my mind away from my raging libido.

‘Have you danced?’ he continues.

I think about Barry and Spike. ‘I don’t know if you’d actually call it dancing.’ I smile ruefully.

But Mr Darcy doesn’t smile; instead, his expression remains serious. ‘I was afraid that because I had arrived so late I was going to have to steal you away from another.’

I have a flashback of Spike on his BlackBerry. Steal me away? Spike wouldn’t have noticed if I’d been tied up and kidnapped right under his nose. ‘Don’t worry. I’m all yours,’ I joke.

Mr Darcy looks slightly taken aback. ‘You are?’ he replies, and I realise he’s taken me literally.

‘Oh, no, it’s a saying,’ I say quickly. ‘Sort of like a joke,’ I try explaining.

‘I see,’ nods Mr Darcy, although I’m not sure he does really, but I’m no longer thinking about it, as his eyes are sweeping over me like searchlights and my heartbeat is quickening. Wow. I’ve gone from being ignored to being the focus of someone’s full attention. It’s as if he can’t take his eyes off me. Which is incredibly flattering. I’m just not used to it.

But you can get used to it, Emily.

We both fall silent again. With no drink to sip, I fiddle with the tendrils of my hair. ‘Well, this is nice,’ I say after a moment.

Nice? Did I just say, nice?

‘Indeed,’ nods Mr Darcy and stares at me gravely.

The conversation stalls again, and not knowing what to say, I peer down into the inky darkness. It’s New Year’s Eve and in the distance I can see fairylights glittering, someone’s Christmas tree in a faraway bay window, a party taking place in a house across the communal gardens. I drum my fingers against the balcony. Gosh, it’s so quiet. I can actually hear myself breathing.

I rummage around in my mind for something to say that doesn’t involve some quip. I know I won’t be able to joke around with Mr Darcy like I did with Spike, which might bother some people, but I’m totally fine with that. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think a good sense of humour is totally overrated. I want a real man, not some idiot, I decide, picturing Spike doing the funky chicken on the dance floor.

I stifle a smile at the memory. OK, so I admit it was very funny, but if I wanted to date someone funny I’d go out with a comedian, I tell myself firmly.

‘I love this time of year, don’t you?’ I blurt finally, breaking the silence.

Wow, I never thought I’d be so pleased to hear the sound of my own voice. In books it always sounds so profound and romantic when the characters spend hours staring into each other’s eyes without speaking. In reality, however, you’d have to be a Benedictine monk.

‘It’s bearable,’ he replies shortly. ‘If you like silliness and fripperies.’

‘Oh,’ I say, feeling shot down. ‘Yes, I suppose it is a bit silly,’ I agree, that same image of Spike twirling round with his tinsel feather boa springing to mind. ‘But being silly can be kind of fun sometimes.’

Mr Darcy frowns as if he’s never heard of the concept. ‘And are you having fun now?’

‘Of course,’ I reply over-brightly.

Well, I wouldn’t call it fun exactly, but that’s hardly surprising. I’m too nervous. And anyway, like I said, I’m not here to have fun, I think, sneaking a peak at Mr Darcy and feeling a swell of lust and pheromones at all that repressed passion I know is bubbling under moody arrogance. In fact, I could have sworn I just caught him glancing at my cleavage.